


Hope

by stayforstraykids



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Mentioned NCT 127 Ensemble, Mentioned NCT Ensemble, Sad Mark Lee (NCT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayforstraykids/pseuds/stayforstraykids
Summary: The first time he saw the door, he puked.---A short one-shot of Mark Lee
Kudos: 10





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review down below! I'd love to hear your opinion :)
> 
> Also this DOES NOT take place in a prison. Mark was actually kidnapped. I just wanted to clear that up since I compare his room to a prison cell a lot.

… … …

Shuffling up his knees into a new sitting position, Mark hugged his arms around his legs in an attempt to give himself some comfort. 

… … …

With nothing in this  _ cell  _ of his, he stared at the dull wall in front of him. His eyes involuntarily travelled to the right, where a dirty, rusty and old toilet sat (so old, in fact, Mark accidently broke the flush handle after his first use of it and now had to gently pull the lever within the tank) and to the small sink next to it, his only source of water for washing his body, his clothes and for drinking.

Looking at the grotesque toilet made him grimace in thought of having to use it (it never got better no matter how many times he hover-sat on it) and so he quickly looked at the door instead. 

Ironically enough, looking at the door made him feel worse. It was shiny and new, the mahogany colour was a saturated red-brown that sucked all the colour from everything else in the room. Even the blood in his own hand felt mute in comparison. The door handle reflected the low light in the room and somehow made it shine brighter. The intricate engravings made pictures of flowers and trees, spring and the sun, cupids and symbols of love, everything that was good in the world could be described by the loveliness of this carefully crafted door. It was art. Often Mark would trace his fingers along the etches, circling the curves and lines with appreciation and wonder. He had no doubt that even if he had seen this door a few weeks ago, few months, even a few years, he would have been just as amazed by it. Mark wasn’t very sophisticated, he himself had no talent in art (other than musical art, of course) and probably thought Leonardo Dicaprio was the name of an ancient artist in his younger days, but he appreciated this sort of beauty. Something that could’ve taken months to make or even years. He knew from being an idol how much work and effort it took to create art and he couldn’t imagine the talent that went into making art this breathtaking. 

But as captivating as this door was, sometimes Mark looked at it and felt immense regret and a sense of lost hope. The door wasn’t always here. There used to be a door that matched the rest of the room’s decor but Mark had kicked and body-checked it enough times to loosen the screw around the handle, and eventually open the door. He could still remember the immediate endorphin rush and as the chemicals hit his brain, he felt the strong beating of adrenaline in his heart. He ran and ran, looking for an exit with the feeling of being free, like a bird gliding in the sky on a sunny day. His happiness couldn’t be beaten by any other memory, not the day he passed his audition for SM, not the day he debuted with nct, not the love he felt from his parents or friends or anyone could make him happier. He thought for a moment he was crying from his happiness but didn’t have enough time to process that thought before he was crying from despair. 

As soon as he had escaped, he was brought back to his little dungeon, in the corner of his larger prison facility.

It was such a fleeting yet powerful moment of pure hope. But as fast as it arrived, it left without warning. And when the new, stronger, almost impossible to break door settled, along with his punishment for escaping, it became clear to Mark there was no room for hope anymore. His only chance of escaping and he fucked it. 

The last pinch of cilantro was the extravagance of the door. The toilet barely worked, the sink was tiny, the only “bed” he had was a blanket on top of the cold ground and yet his captor had the money to spend on this beautiful door. A door full of images of what Mark’s life used to be. What Mark would have if only he were on the other side of the door.

The first time he saw the door, he puked. 

The memory made him queasy and Mark decided to stop forcing himself to think of his regrets. His eyes panned back to their original viewpoint, where the dreary floor met the even more subdued wall. 


End file.
